Transmigrated Into A Tragic Romance Fantasy – Chapter 65

November in the Northern Territory (E)

The Bedran Barony.

Once a land full of vibrancy and vitality, it began to wither away twenty years ago due to a prolonged war with the barbarian tribes. Eventually, it met its end with the fall of its walls and the collapse of everything it once held.

Years passed, and an up-and-coming noble tried to claim the land, spurring hopes of reconstruction. However, the land, already eroded by time, was more suited to ruins than recovery. Thus, for twenty years, it remained a desolate, sinking land.

A land stained with blood and death.

A land littered with countless bones.

A thoroughly forsaken land.

A land devoid of any human presence, filled only with the shadows of crumbled ruins, where even the sound of insects was absent. Only the menacing moonlight illuminated this place, under which a lone figure walked a solitary path.

The figure, concealed under a hood, appeared fragile and precarious even in shadow. It seemed as though death was hungrily eyeing the figure from behind.

The figure staggered and swayed occasionally, each step revealing slender, almost skeletal legs beneath the hooded cloak, with feet covered in wounds and stains, devoid of any footwear.

Thump… Thump…

Steps filled with something deeper than mere despair continued.

Steps resembling the ruins, where everything had crumbled and shattered, continued.

Whether the figure was searching for something or fleeing from something was unclear.

Eventually, the steps came to a halt.

The shadow under the hood lifted its head.

The moonlight illuminated the lower half of a face hidden under the hood.

The once radiant skin, like the flourishing Bedran Barony, was now parched like a barren wasteland, and the once brilliant red lips, reminiscent of the vibrant flag of the Bedran family, were now dark and lifeless like abandoned corpses.

A living corpse.

That was the only term suitable for the figure who had come to this forsaken land.

And the living corpse began walking again.

Stepping over the tattered flag of the Bedran family, heading toward the collapsed mansion where that flag once proudly flew.

It was as if the figure was searching for a grave.

Thus.

The figure entered the ruins.

It was one day in October.

**

It was a cozy place.

A place that suited the figure well.

A place perfect for ending a wretched life.

A place more than sufficient for the fate of a foolish and selfish person.

No.

It was an excessive place.

It felt as if the figure had finally arrived at where they belonged.

The figure looked around.

It seemed to be someone’s bedroom.

A bedroom with a woman lying on the bed.

Hair, perhaps once red or black, lay sprawled across the pillow, and the skeleton, weathered by time, lay with hands neatly clasped.

The figure envied the peaceful appearance.

The unknown woman seemed to enjoy eternal rest and peace that the figure would never attain even in death.

Unlike the figure, who could not escape the hell of curses and endured unbearable pain and despair until finally letting go of everything, the unknown woman seemed to have met a different end.

Soon, the figure would also end their nameless life in this nameless place, like the unknown woman.

At the end of life, there was too much wear and tear to feel regret, remorse, despair, or sorrow.

Having been chipped and broken too much, the figure had forgotten what emotions were.

Just as one loses feeling in extreme cold, the figure had lost all emotion in the hell of despair.

The figure didn’t know what remained in the empty inside.

That’s what they thought.

Having vomited so much, having spewed out so much, there was nothing left to vomit or spew out.

“…”

The eerie moonlight seeped through the collapsed window.

Under the moonlight, the figure looked down at the piece of bread in their hand.

The empty inside had to be filled with something dirty like this moldy bread.

And with this last piece of bread, they would finally let go of this prolonged life.

Without looking into a mirror, the figure knew what their emaciated, skeletal appearance looked like.

It would be hideous.

Monstrous.

And.

Truly fitting.

A faint smile formed on the figure’s face as they put the last piece of bread in their mouth.

Crunch, crunch.

The dried-out bread crumbled into small pieces in the mouth.

The last moldy piece of bread at the end of life.

The sweetness felt was likely from the expectation of finally indulging in the luxury of death.

For someone who had hurt and even taken the lives of dear ones due to erroneous decisions, death was a selfish escape and a despicable refuge.

That’s why they had endured and endured, but it was no longer possible.

The dying body had begun to fail, the food had run out, and there was no help or device to suppress the desire to indulge in the luxury of death.

It was time to offer the wretched soul to the persistent death that had been trailing behind.

Everything was ending.

The catastrophe met by a wrongful beginning was ending.

After swallowing the piece of bread, the figure removed the hood they had been wearing.

The lifeless white hair was revealed, and the lifeless blue eyes were revealed.

She took something out from her bosom.

A blood-stained handkerchief.

It was the keepsake of someone precious.

A handkerchief used to wipe away tears while coughing up blood, a precious person’s handkerchief that comforted her while dying.

She had taken out the handkerchief that brought up the screams of that time, which she thought would no longer produce anything to vomit from her eyes and throat.

If she were to honor that last comfort and encouragement, she would have to flee from death, but the failing body crushed even the faint will.

“Ugh…”

Tears fell on the blood-stained handkerchief.

The dry handkerchief became wet.

The dry heart was wet for the last time.

“Huh…”

If she hadn’t called in those villains she had forgotten about.

If she hadn’t tried to use the festival of all people for revenge.

She wouldn’t have ended up betrothed to the instigator.

On the hundredth day of her engagement, her precious one wouldn’t have died trying to protect her.

In the end, she was the one who had taken that precious life.

That’s why she should say another apology at the end, but her mouth, which had forgotten how to speak since the screams of that day, only uttered foolish cries.

She held the handkerchief to her chest.

She closed her eyes tightly.

And so.

Silently.

She cried.

“Ugh… Huh…”

Burning the last bit of life, she honored the futile sacrifice of her precious one.

She hoped that they were resting comfortably in a place different from hers.

She hoped that the one who had their blessing of long life cut short due to entanglement with a cursed person was enjoying the unfulfilled blessing in a different place.

It was time to say a final goodbye.

She wanted to say something, whether it was an apology or a greeting, but hitting her foolish mouth, nothing was felt.

Not even pain.

“Ah… Ugh…”

Thud.

She pounded her chest in frustration, but the impact that should have caused a heartbeat was too weak to feel anything.

At this final moment, she wished someone would help her.

Thinking that the final moment of someone who hurt precious ones due to stubbornness leading to curses should be lonely, she had abandoned everything and fled in the dead of night.

Leaving only a letter for her father.

Because she didn’t want to hurt the precious ones standing by her side any longer.

The curse of the barbarian chieftain had already begun, and she now realized that it couldn’t be solved or escaped.

She now realized that a cursed person should never be loved.

So, she had run away alone to end her solitary life, but at this moment, she wished someone would help her.

Because of her foolish mouth that couldn’t deliver the last words of apology and goodbye to her precious one, she harbored a truly shameless and wicked desire.

“Haa… Ugh…”

She moved her mouth endlessly until her life was extinguished, but only primitive mutterings that no one could understand came out.

Even so, the figure continued muttering without giving up.

An apology for abandoning the comfort and encouragement.

A goodbye that it was now forever.

And.

An apology for not dragging the one who caused that day’s screams to the hellfire.

She wanted to convey that, but her broken mouth only spewed nonsense.

Gradually, she felt her strength ebbing away.

She felt her hands, which were holding the handkerchief, loosening.

She felt her mind drifting far away.

She felt the end approaching.

It was then.

Creak.

She heard the sound of a door opening.

She thought it was the sound of the reaper who had come to devour her filthy soul.

She thought it was the sound of death that had been trailing behind her finally arriving.

She thought it was the sound she had been waiting and waiting for.

She opened her eyes.

Her vision, drowned in tears, swayed, making it hard to see ahead.

A broad smile spread across her face.

Death.

The thing she had endured and endured, considering it a cowardly escape, had personally come to visit, making her smile like that.

It had been hard, so very hard.

Now, she wanted to rest.

She turned her head to look at the death that had personally come to visit.

The wavering vision gradually cleared.

She saw black hair fitting for the reaper chasing death.

She saw red eyes fitting for the reaper chasing death.

And when the reaper called her name.

The figure lost consciousness.

“R-Remian…

?”

The voice of the reaper, the death’s guardian.

Why was it.

Filled with confusion.

Why was it.

Familiar.

Without knowing.

Like that.

Remian Winterfell collapsed.

Thud.

It was November in the northern territories, six months after the end of the engagement war.